


TheLegend27's Tale (TheLegend27 spin-off)

by ShadesOfGrey



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26383822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesOfGrey/pseuds/ShadesOfGrey
Summary: Two people trapped in a loop.One, a slayer. Another, the slain. One was gifted by the gods, another cursed; both were friends until a particular incident happened. Since then, they've been forced to live through who-knows-how-many lives? Worlds? Universes, even?





	TheLegend27's Tale (TheLegend27 spin-off)

**Author's Note:**

> Posting here because I don't know where else to put it.  
> It started off as a joke, honestly, which I wrote at the time of 2:30am-4:30am. Then, I worked on it, and thus, here it came to be.
> 
> No tags because I'm not planning to show anyone except close friends, or if they already know who I am.
> 
> One day, I might delete it off ao3 and put it on another website. Or just erase it in general. Who knows?

The First 

  
  


The first was a simple fellow; or, at least, they hoped to be. Gifted by the god(s), his parents couldn’t contain the secrecy when they came to that discovery, and the people his parents spoke to further boasted, and then those people bragged, and so forth. 

Strangely enough, they weren’t thought to have had a name. They were only known as “The Chosen One”, or “The Gifted One”. Very rarely, someone may speak to them without a heroic accent, or to attempt to befriend, and later abuse. Despite this uneasy lifestyle, the first held a cheeky grin and attempted to defy their fate. They refused to become like corrupted others in myth, refused to fall to tyranny and cruelty. They’d use these gifts for good, being showered with appreciation and companionship.

Quickly after, sadly, people had forgotten these gifts were intended for good. They saw a bitter, dark edge to these actions, and thus, pressed on them. Within a few days, the first was left to nobody, ridiculed and berated for simply existing. 

If you were to ask them, “who were you?” or “what happened to you?” they wouldn’t be able to answer. At the time, they were still young, emotions clouding their judgement and fear constantly tracking their steps. So, as stupid and stereotypical it sounds, they let their heart guide the way; unfortunately for them, their heart was speared with a sharp, acrid icicle. 

Just as quickly as their followers, their praisers, turned, the first turned on  _ them _ . They spent days hastily putting together a tattered plan, and years after working on the details, sharing it with only a single person: Reitu, a name that would later come to mean “slayer”. 

The day came, and the first climbed to the tallest point he could. An abandoned stone home, once for a monk, atop a volcano, where the atmosphere was as hot with fury as they. Up here, their adrenaline pulsed with the earth’s energy, and had they not been interfered, it was likely they’d have gotten what they wanted — to simply kill everyone in their hometown, and then, themselves.

Reitu had other plans. Heaving and sweating, not at all powered by the first’s determination, his panic was the driving factor. By the time he arrived at the top, black clouds of soot and ash had begun to form. Lava burst through the surface, popping and bubbling. Without waiting for even a moment’s passing, he ran forth, picked up a rock, and bashed it against the first’s skull. 

The first, being as gifted and planned as he was, wouldn’t be taken down by a simple skull bash. He fought with his attacker, blood blinding his vision, and was defeated when a spear pierced his heart. Reitu, having fought this battle a thousand times already, didn’t go down, not even as his flesh was torn apart and his own bones seemed to break.

In fact, it still took months, far too many helpless months, afterwards before Reitu had properly settled on the kill. This time around, he was a fool, still shaken by the thought of murder, and left the unconscious body as it was. Only, he set fire upon it, expecting it to ashes and those ashes to flutter away in the wind. Nothing could go wrong, he thought; they were dead, and only dead.

The first had stirred to realize they were half-dead, but not fully, and that would be good enough, fully unaware that they  _ had  _ died. After spending time undercover, they crafted a porcelain body. Not only would it make for a better flesh replacement, it could last. Maybe live long enough to spitefully outlive all the other bastards, right?


End file.
